A to B via Z
Lately, my travels seem to be a tad more arduous than usual. Thursday was a supposed to be a simple day: Las Vegas to Seattle. Seattle to Chicago: arriving in Chi-town just in time for dinner at the Frontera Grill.
The plane was scheduled to leave Las Vegas at 9:05 PM. However, the plane was late into Las Vegas and then we were stuck behind a stalled US Airways jet on the tarmac. As a result, we were an hour late out of Las Vegas. Which in the grand scheme of all things travel, is usually not a big deal. My connection in Seattle would be tight, but I would have a shot at making it.
Thursday was a gorgeous day for flying – clear as a bell. The views of Mt. Adams, Mt. Rainier, and Mt. St. Helens were striking. As we flew past Mt. St. Helens, I couldn’t quite get a complete look at its north-eastern flank which had been blown out by the 1980 eruption.
Early in the flight, it was announced that our Seattle arrival gate would be on the C concourse – that was good because my Chicago flight was scheduled out of the C concourse at a nearby gate. However, just before we landed, a gate change was announced. We would be arriving on the D concourse. Uh oh.
We landed, pulled up to the gate and I zoomed out of the plane, down the D concourse, across the terminal, up the C concourse all the way to gate C-9. When I arrived at the gate, the plane was still there, but the door was closed. I begged the gate agent to open the door and let me on. But she stood firm. She said, in a thick Russian “The door is SHUT. It cannot be re-opened. We haf reboooked you.” I practically sobbed, “I don’t want to be rebooked. I want to get on that airplane.” She responded, “The door is shut. You have been rebooked.” And that was that. So, after a little more begging on my part, I gave up and asked, “What are the specifics of my rebooking?” She, answered “We have you booked on a flight to San Francisco and then on American Airlines from San Francisco to Chicago.” “What?!!!!! San Francisco??!!!!!” She responded, “You haf been reboooked.”
By this point, I could longer talk. I was so upset that it was everything I could do to not break down in tears. So, I just shut up while she printed the tickets. As she handed me my ticket, I noted that I had ten minutes to get back to the D concourse – where I had originally come from. However, I had to make a quick detour to the restroom – I needed a few minutes to myself to completely breakdown and then recover. Which I sort of did – I broke down but only partially recovered.
I have to say that I usually don’t combust over travel difficulties. But, I think my resilience is still at a post surgical low point. Anyhoo, I made it back over to D, and walked right on the plane. I called Peter, but was still so upset that I couldn’t talk. Plus he was the Cubs-Pirates baseball game and couldn’t hear. So, I hung up and sent him a text message letting him know my new itinerary and that I wouldn’t arrive into Chicago until 10:30 PM.
Back down the coast I flew – there was Mt. St. Helens again and this time I could see the blown out northern flank. Two hours later we pulled up to the gate at SFO and I hustled off the plane. I stopped at the Alaska Airlines gate desk to ask where American Airlines was located. And of course, they were located two terminals over. I hurried off and as I was exiting the concourse (through the only way out), it dawned on me that the whole thing was configured so that I was leaving security. Augh!!!!! I grumbled and ranted while I followed the signage leading to the American Airlines terminal. As I ranted, I noticed that the signage was leading me far away from the terminals and into the basement of the parking garage. Another meltdown ensued. There I was in the basement of the f***ing parking garage, in the San Francisco airport when I should be in Chicago. I continued to rant, rave and follow the signage and amazingly I ended up at the American Airlines terminal and thankfully the security line was short. I made it through security, got all put back together and headed down the concourse. I reached for my phone, but my phone wasn’t where it was supposed to be. Shit. I’d left my phone back at security. I scurried back and no one had seen my phone – even though I’d just been there five minutes earlier. Ugh…As I started to sink to the total bottom of despair, someone asked, “Is this your phone on the chair?” And it was!
I finally made it to my gate and then called Peter. The first thing he said, “I’ve been so worried about you. Where are you?” I replied, “Well, it’s a nice day in San Francisco.” “San Francisco???!!!!!!!!!!”, he sputtered. Turns out, the text message I sent him, was garbled. The first part was o.k., the middle part was gobbledygook, and the last sentence stated, “Have a good run with Tygey.” This made no sense, since Peter was in Chicago and Tygey was back in Alaska. Peter was worried that I’d fallen completely off the deep end – which was a valid concern. We chatted for a bit longer and then I boarded the airplane and walked to my seat - which was a middle seat in the back row. Of course it was.
Fortunately, the flight from SFO to O’Hare was uneventful. And not surprisingly my luggage didn’t make it. But the Ski Boy was at the airport to pick me up and Bruce and Andrea had a snifter of Grand Marnier and gourmet chocolates waiting for me at home. Life was finally good.
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Gawd! How did you keep from going postal?
US Airways must be having a bad couple of weeks messing everyone up. After all of that airport running you sure didn’t miss your exercise program.
Love it! We should write a complaint. I had an almost full body cavity search because I wasn’t prepared to leave and return through security in SFO. Oops, my cell phone was also in my back pocket, *ehem*, as I walked through the metal detector. Don’t forget I had a bottle of water in my bag. It took over 30 minutes to clear me, with several searches through everything.
SFO. BOO.
Glad you made it for your GM and chocolates
Ground, trying to sw clitoris piercing pic*
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